


168 Hours

by ruralfishingcat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crack Treated Seriously, Denial of Feelings, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, POV Keith (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 17:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14720258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruralfishingcat/pseuds/ruralfishingcat
Summary: Lance lets out a yelp and scrambles, mussing up the sheets and eventually managing to pull them over his head. He shouts, “Get out! Get out, get out!”The moment snaps. Keith inexplicably gathers his strength. He bolts.AKA Keith walks in on Lance and they both wallow and pine over the course of 168 hours.





	168 Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Hours ending with even numbers are from Keith's POV, and hours ending with odd numbers are from Lance's POV.

** Hour 0: **

 

He’s halfway down the hall when he hears it. 

“I…K-Keith—”

Keith’s head perks up, instinctively searching for the direction from where his name was uttered. After a pause while he orients himself, his head swivels to the door a few feet from him: Lance’s room. The voice did sound similar to Lance’s, and it’s the closest option, so Keith seizes it. 

He’s about to knock, but Lance just said his name, so he probably heard Keith walking past his room and is already expecting him. It’s a little late for either of them to be awake, but Keith was on his way back from a walk around the Castle, hoping to tire himself out enough to fall asleep before Allura wakes them. 

Keith steps up to the door and lets it slide open in front of him. “What is it, Lance?” 

Time seems to freeze on the tail end of his question. 

Lance is sitting on his bed, his back against the headrest and his long legs stretching out in a crooked display. For whatever reason, his shirt has been discarded and Keith spots it, out of his peripheral vision, in a heap on the floor beside the bed. Then it registers to Keith that Lance’s pants are gone, too, and even worse, his underwear. Lance stares back with wide, petrified eyes. Lance’s right hand wraps around himself, tilting his cock slightly toward his stomach, and his left hand clenches the sheets. Keith’s eyes unwillingly dart down to Lance’s more occupied hand and immediately spring up back to his face. Keith’s limbs feel heavy and useless, as though he’s suddenly too weak to lift so much as a finger. 

Lance lets out a yelp and scrambles, mussing up the sheets and eventually managing to pull them over his head. He shouts, “Get out! Get out, get out!” 

The moment snaps. Keith inexplicably gathers his strength. He bolts. 

 

** Hour 2: **

 

Keith’s hiding in his room, under the covers, and he’s sure Lance is doing the same— _oh God, the same covers where_ —. He shuts his eyes and begs his mind to rid itself of the lingering images, of raised eyebrows, a mouth dropped open in shock, tensed stomach muscles. And he’s officially going insane, isn’t he?

It’s perfectly natural. That’s what all his professors and authority figures have told him, at least, not that he’s ever gone out and asked for advice or opinions on the matter. In his mind, it’s an extremely intimate topic that doesn’t need to be shared with anyone beyond a partner. Which makes it all worse having walked in on Lance. 

Keith shudders, the image crashing back into his brain with full force. It has to have been at least an hour since he darted out, but he can’t sleep and he can’t stop thinking about it. With a sigh, he tugs the covers off his flushed face and stares at the ceiling. 

An image of Lance stares back at him. He lets out a pained groan and flops on his side. At this rate, he’s not going to get so much as a few minutes of sleep before they’re all roused to train. He scoots closer to the wall as though he can meld himself into the castle’s infrastructure, away from human functioning and bodily processes. His shoulders are hunched stiffly, a last ditch barrier against anyone who enters the room; as long as he’s staring at the wall, he’s not staring at Lance. 

If only his mind could grant him the same leeway. 

 

** Hour 9: **

 

Lance has not slept a wink. His eyes may be bleeding from strain for all he knows; he doesn’t dare look in a mirror. Everyone gathers at the table for breakfast, eating food goo and chatting, while Lance stares blankly at his bowl. If he can burn the image of green food goo into his mind, it will replace all other memories, preferably forever. 

God. Why don’t the doors lock! He’s _sure_ —or at least, was—they lock! So what sin has he committed so foul that warrants a door malfunction and Keith walking in on him—

“Whoa, Lance, are you okay?” 

Lance blinks and his eyes take a moment to focus on his surroundings, burning from the movement. “What?” 

Pidge frowns and gestures toward him. “You look really out of it. How much sleep did you get?” 

Lance looks down at his bowl of food, which he’s spilled all over the table. Huh. When did that happen?

“Do try to be more careful,” Allura chides, a disapproving look on her face. The mice scurry over and begin feasting on the meal before Lance can wipe it up. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles and settles his sweaty hands on his thighs. 

“Has anyone seen Keith?” Hunk asks, and Lance’s stomach practically explodes into a flurry of nausea and stress. Jesus, can the team not go ten minutes without worrying about Keith’s wellbeing? The guy’s a loner—always has been, so him ditching breakfast isn’t even an anomaly. The timing is a bit suspicious, but. Whatever. Lance doesn’t want to think about it. “Breakfast is like, the most important meal of the day, and he’s straight up missing it.” 

“He was up early,” Shiro says. His tone is blasé, which gives Lance hope that Keith has been successfully presenting himself as normal and not at all freaked out or furious. Lance….isn’t sure how he’d feel if the situation was reversed, but he’s also not Keith. Keith’s so confusing sometimes. “I passed him on the way here. He said he already had breakfast and was going to get some training in before we set off for any missions.”

Hunk snorts. “That dude needs to take a break once in a while. At least he ate, though. Looks like he’s already doing better than you, huh, Lance?”

Lance startles and knocks his elbow against the edge of the table. “Oww!” 

“Shoot, man, didn’t mean to scare you,” Hunk says, worried. 

“I’m fine,” Lance says quickly. He has to be. “Didn’t even hurt.” 

“Okay…” Hunk goes back to his food, though he spares Lance a few more hesitant glances during the remainder of breakfast. Lance ignores each and every one. 

 

** Hour 12: **

 

Keith finally collapses to the ground after who knows how long, huffing and weakly calling out, “End training simulator.” 

The bot falls back obediently and Keith groans, dropping his bayard by his side. He lowers his body and lies on his back, taking a minute to gather his breath. Maybe the training is a bit overkill, but he’s been striving to exert himself far enough that his mind goes completely blank—and also to avoid having to see Lance at breakfast. So far the exercise isn’t working beyond causing him to sweat up a storm. His back is sticky with the sweat and his shirt clings to both him and the floor. 

There were droplets of sweat gliding down Lance’s heaving chest, his pulsing neck. 

“Augh!” Keith screams into the room. It echoes back at him, his own terrified voice responding with matched panic. He slams his hands against his eyes, a dull pain immediately latching itself to his eyebrows and forehead from the force.

He’s sick—sick that he can’t stop thinking about his teammate touching himself, gripping himself tightly, stroking himself with practiced moves. Body taut and overworked, toes curling in pleasures, head hanging low, breathing heavy and desperate, a voice so covetous, wet lips taking ownership of his name, ruining its consumption for anyone else. Keith. Keith. _Keith._

“Sick,” he mutters and tries to ignore the tear that rolls down his cheek. “So sick.” 

 

** Hour 17: **

 

Lance has been avoiding Keith for approximately seventeen hours since the disaster. Normally he’d play it off somehow and turn it around to make _Keith_ feel like he’s been the weird one, but. He doesn’t know how to this time. And his frantic reaction the night before kind of gave him away. 

He—he doesn’t even know how to explain the situation to himself. 

He’s a teenage boy cooped up in space with only so much alone time. That part isn’t all too embarrassing—he’s been caught before. It’s awkward, but survivable. But this? The shame and embarrassment derives more from the fact that he flat out moaned Keith’s name, and, and not even on accident like he wants to pretend. The urge had been growing for some time. A Keith-shaped lump in his stomach that progressed until it engulfed his entire body. 

Oh, how he wants to pretend. But last night was only the first time he had gathered the courage to actually utter Keith’s name, after weeks of verbalizing it solely in his head and eventually mouthing it, wanting to imagine. Wanting him to be there—but not like this. 

Of all the nights. Of all the names. 

And now he’s ruined their friendship, something that was already weak in strength, something somehow weaker than his restraint. 

He curls up on his bed against the wall, wishing to be anywhere but here. 

 

** Hour 18:  **

 

Keith skips dinner. He just. Can’t.

 

** Hour 21: **

 

Okay. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since The Incident and Lance hasn’t seen Keith once, so things are going all right. He would prefer it if Hunk would stop giving him concerned looks, but so long as he stops it there and doesn’t confront Lance, everything will be fine. 

Lance just wants to know why. Why does this kind of thing always happen to _him_? Why couldn’t Keith have walked in on _Shiro_ moaning his name like he probably wants. 

He feels a tremble of scalding bitterness twitch through his veins, a nasty choke of envy cling to his being. Reflexively, he clenches the denim of his jeans and tugs. He wonders if Keith’s talking to Shiro right now. But they’re friends, so why wouldn’t they?

Lance shuts his eyes and wraps his arms around his knees. There’s a sickly sensation so strong in his stomach that he thinks he might vomit for a second. It passes, eventually, but he still holds onto his stomach, fingers digging into his ribs just so that he can cling to something tangible. 

Why does it hurt so much?

 

** Hour 24: **

 

It’s been twenty-four hours. Keith has successfully evaded Lance-contact for a full day. But at what cost? He knows they’re going to need to interact eventually, and maybe prolonging the conversation is only making it all worse. 

If he could just erase the image from his mind. It seems burnt into his retinas now, though. Regardless of how often it sneaks into memory, it always draws a wicked, fervid shiver low in Keith’s gut, one that dissipates just as quickly as it arrives, but leaves him feeling wrecked all the same. 

And there’s no escape from his brain, only brief intervals of reprieve that grow shorter by the hour.

Keith tugs the covers to his chin. He closes his eyes and tries to will himself to sleep. Sleep-deprivation is only going to further exacerbate the problem. 

He sees Lance’s face immediately. His flushed cheeks, his lidded eyes. Long, strong fingers that are simultaneously gentle and rough. Sprawled out on the bed, leaned back, offered like a present. Wearing nothing but a cocky, breathless smile as the hand on his belly inches lower and lower, his muscles tensing in anticipation. Words forming on his lips, a soft, encouraging whisper, “Closer, don’t just look. I want you to _touch_ me, Keith”.

A gasp escapes Keith and he shoots up in his bed. Hunched over, he shuts his eyes again and shakes his head desperately, wishing he could shake away the thoughts. He hates how realistic it all feels, how capable his mind is of accurately mimicking Lance’s absolutely wrecked voice, filthy and dirty and the only thing Keith wants to hear again. He thought he’d suppressed the crush, destroyed it from the inside out. For so long now he’d been denying it, only for it to come barreling back in and consume him. 

He sucks in a breath, more a sob than anything else. Skin, practically on fire—everything is too hot and he can hardly focus. The heat makes him cross-eyed and dizzy, drawing deep, heaving breathes from his exhausted chest. His mind can’t concentrate on anything but the musky scent that had enshrouded the room, a mixture of sweat and Lance, so utterly overwhelming and salacious. Keith’s never wanted anything more in his life. 

 

** Hour 25: **

 

Lance is lying in bed, wearing his regular pajamas, plus socks and slippers, and his jacket. He feels a little ridiculous, but a small part of him is afraid Keith will burst in unannounced in an attempt to catch him doing something wrong.

Which is ridiculous, he knows. 

But two days ago he would have thought what actually transpired was ridiculous and implausible, but here he is. Overdressed in bed and fearing a metaphorical boogeyman. 

A small part of him wonders. Wonders what might have happened had he not screamed at Keith, had he not shattered the moment into dozens of irreparable pieces, had he not prompted Keith to flee. 

Wonders if Keith—no. That thought process is dangerous, damaging. 

Lance plays with his jacket cuff, flicks it and thumbs up and down. Wonders how it would feel to have Keith do the same. A shiver of arousal makes its way down to his toes and he hisses, biting his lip to distract, distract, _please._ Always watched Keith. At the Garrison. In Blue. During training. Never considered the possibility of Keith watching back. 

Never realized how much he likes the thought. 

Keith sneaking into his room late at night, a special knock just between them, heated whispers then silence, only rustling fabrics—moans that exist only in the night, only by extension of them, forgotten to the rising sun. Nail scrapes, gentle bites, reminders of each other, of being each other’s. Not knowing if the next day will bring success or death, but none of it mattering beneath the covers. 

Wonders if Keith would be braver than him, would stand his ground in the doorway, maybe even take a step in. Lance’d been so distracted, hadn’t bothered to check Keith’s expression. Had it shown disgust? Terror? Arousal? Had he known the situation when he entered? Heard the breathy exhale of Lance’s voice? Had _wanted_ to see? Wanted to enter?

He gasps, wrenching his hand up over the covers and away from his thigh. Desperate pants scramble from his mouth, his chest trying to escape itself. He had almost—his fingers. Cradling the offending hand, he slinks lower in his bed, ashamed. His arousal surges, angry at his negation, his teasing. 

Wonders what it would be like if Keith watched him back. 

He rolls onto his stomach and silently screams into his pillow. 

 

** Hour 32:  **

 

Keith wakes up and briefly things are okay, until he remembers it hasn’t all been a dream. It takes him an extra ten minutes to drag himself out of bed and face the day. Hopefully seven in the morning is early enough that Lance is still asleep again. On his way to breakfast, he’s stopped by Shiro.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro says, offering a warm smile. 

“Oh, morning,” Keith says. 

Shiro watches him for a moment as they walk down the hall. “So, is everything okay with you?”

“Huh? Of course,” Keith says, gaze never faltering from his destination. He can’t look Shiro in the eye right now—he can’t look _anyone_ in the eye right now. “Everything’s fine.”

“Okay,” Shiro says. “I just haven’t seen much of you the past day. And you skipped dinner.” 

“I’m fine,” Keith says. “I’ve just…had a lot on my mind.”

“I understand,” Shiro says. “You know I’m always here if you ever want to talk.”

Keith manages a feeble smile and hopes it’s enough to convince Shiro. “Thanks. I’m good for now, though.” 

And he’s lying; he knows he can’t talk to Shiro, not now, maybe not ever. The only person he can talk to about it is _Lance._ But he can’t yet, and maybe he won’t ever be able to, either. 

He has to, though. For the sake of the team.

 

** Hour 37: **

 

Lance misses Keith at breakfast again, and the uneasy thrum of his chest makes him unsure of whether or not it’s a good thing. Whether or not he wanted Keith to be there. It feels like every hour that passes only makes their inevitable confrontation even worse. He can imagine it now; crossed arms, a closed off stance, defending himself against Lance’s existence. The revulsion lacing Keith’s tone, the acrimony in his eyes, the certain annihilation of their teamwork, partnership. 

They won’t even be rivals again.

They’ll just be strangers. And that’s somehow worse. 

 

** Hour 40: **

 

Keith can’t take it anymore; he needs to talk to Lance, and if Lance isn’t going to go to him, he’ll just have to go to Lance. He drums up all the courage his body can muster, and knocks on Lance’s door. 

There’s a pause before Lance’s voice rings out: “Gimme a minute!” 

Keith swallows. It’s the first time he’s heard Lance’s voice since _that_ night. It’s as smooth as he remembers. He’s…missed it. 

Lance opens the door and his eyes flash wide before he hunches in on himself. He stays quiet.

“Uh,” Keith says. Forty hours to mull over what to say and he’s speechless. “Hi, Lance.”

“Hi, Keith,” Lance says quietly. 

“Can I come in?” The room feels off limits now, like his mere presence in it will cause a collapse of the space time continuum. 

“Sure,” Lance says and moves aside. 

Keith walks in. The door closes behind him—trapped. 

“So,” Keith says. He’s just drawing time out until he can think of what to say. 

“It’s not like a reoccurring thing, okay?” Lance says, words bursting through like a broken dam. Keith supposes one of them at least has been thinking about what to say. “We’re just all cooped up, and you were the last person I talked to that night. And—and we’re in space, so it’s less real! It doesn’t count! I swear that was the first time! I was just testing it out!” 

“Okay, yeah,” Keith says, just wanting Lance to _stop talking_. 

“Shake on it?” Lance holds out a hand.

Keith stares at it, immobilized. The first physical contact. Even just seeing Lance and speaking actual words to him was intimidating. This feels like a whole other hurdle—one the size of a mountain. 

“It was the other hand!” Lance blurts out.

“Oh god,” Keith says weakly. The image flashes through his mind again and he desperately shoos it. 

“Ugh,” Lance says. “Why is this so hard?”

“ _Oh god_ ,” Keith says.

“I mean difficult!” Lance shrieks. “Agh!” 

“I—I have to go,” Keith says and darts out before he can hear Lance’s response. He runs into his room and throws himself on his bed. Why. Why did it have to go down like that?

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He hopes it doesn’t take another forty hours to find the bravery to confront Lance again. 

 

** Hour 43: **

 

Lance is having a perfectly fine evening lounging on the couch wishing that he could turn back time until Keith doesn’t hate him when Hunk wanders into the room, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk says and sits down near him.

Lance tries to smile. He can barely tolerate any company at the moment, even Hunk’s. He just couldn’t stand being in his room where all the incident’s reminders are. “‘Sup?” 

“So, I had a question for you,” Hunk says. 

“Fire away, buddy,” Lance says. Anything to distract his mind. 

“What’s your problem with Keith?”

Lance shoots up on the couch. No, no, no, wrong topic. “What! I don’t have a problem with that guy! I mean, other than our rivalry problem, but nothing else!”

Hunk blinks. “Uh. Okay, man, sure.”

Lance slouches back down on the couch and crosses his arms, grimacing.

Hunk scratches his head. “You’ve just been going out of your way to avoid him lately.”

“Maybe _he’s_ the one who’s been going out of his way to avoid _me_!” 

“Uh, if that were the case I think it’d be him running out of the room when you enter instead of the other way around,” Hunk says. “All I’m saying, try not to let the rivalry get to you so much. We’re all a team, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lance mumbles. 

“Almost like a family, even,” Hunk continues, oblivious to Lance’s growing distress. “Aww, I want to be the cool Uncle, I think I could totally pull that off.”

Family. A sickly distaste laps at Lance’s throat. Invigorated by the nausea, Lance cries, “I don’t want stupid Keith to be my family!” 

Silence falls over them. 

“I’m going to go take a shower,” Lance mutters and stands up sharply. 

“You know I’m here for you, right?” Hunk says. “For whatever you’re dealing with.”

Lance gives a weak smile. “Yup. See you later.”

 

** Hour 48: **

 

They haven’t talked again. Keith wants to work up the courage to go talk to him again, but he also wants Lance to do it for a change. Just to let Keith know he’s not the only one trying, not the only one who cares about repairing their relationship. Can’t stomach the thought that maybe Lance is relieved to have an excuse to avoid Keith again, a novel justification for their reinstated rivalry, a way to destroy progress, destroy Keith. 

Plus it’s…late. He can’t risk walking into Lance’s room again. Not this late. Not unannounced. 

Lance’s room is the closest. They might share a wall—he’s not sure how the castle system works. 

Keith rests his hand on the wall next to him. He wonders how close his hand is from Lance’s. If he would be able to tell if Lance is resting his own hand this very moment. 

He closes his eyes and dreams of nothing.

 

** Hour 55:  **

 

The shower doesn't help. It only reminds Lance of the night. 

“Lance! I could use your ice ray!” Pidge calls. 

“On it,” he mumbles into the comm and flies toward Pidge where she’s battling a Galra ship who keeps managing to evade her fire. And now he’s in battle, so he should really be thinking of more important matters. 

“This should be the last of them, team,” Shiro says, a twinge of pride in his tone. “Keep up the good work. Keith, Hunk, how are the refugees?” 

“A-Okay,” Hunk says. “Almost got them all boarded.” 

“My Lion’s full,” Keith says. Lance bites his lip and shoots a beam at the nearby Galra ship. Don’t think. Don’t think about Keith. “I’m heading back now.” 

God, why is Keith such a chatterbox? Can’t he stay quiet for once?

“Got it,” Shiro says. “Lance, Pidge, how are you two holding up?”

“Fine!” Pidge says as she entangles two Galra ships with vines. 

“Peachy,” Lance says quietly. He replays Keith’s words in his head. Keith, so fiery and fighty, assisting refugees onto his Lion. Using gentle hands and soft promises of comfort. Lance wants both sides of him, the rough and the softened, the teasing and the fond smiles, the arduous training exercises and the curl of fingers in his. 

“ _What?_ ”

Lance blinks. “Huh?” Is Keith actually talking to him? 

“What do you want?” Keith’s voice sounds strangled, defensive. 

“Wh—What?”

“Lance,” Hunk says. “You said his name like, three times.” 

Oh no. He mutes his comm immediately and sucks in a deep breath. Exhaling with a groan, he rests his head against the controls. Blue purrs worriedly in his mind, offering waves of support. 

“It’s okay, girl,” he mutters. “I’m just being stupid.”

“Lance?” Keith sounds a little worried now, having received no response. 

Lance clears his throat twice and turns his comm back on. “I’m here.”

“What do you want?” Keith asks again. It’s softer this time, hesitant. 

“Never mind,” Lance says. “Forgot. Sorry.”

“…Okay,” Keith says after a minute. “Landing with the refugees now. I’ll be back at the castle in five.”

“Roger that,” Shiro says. “Status, Hunk?”

“Heading toward Menaylo now,” he says. 

Lance clenches his controls and fights the urge to turn his comm to just Keith. There’s so much he wants to say but no reason to say any of it. 

 

** Hour 56:  **

 

“Keith,” Shiro calls, stopping him on his way out of the hangar. 

Keith swallows and turns to him. Phase two of sussing out the problem, then. “Hey, Shiro.”

“Nice job back there with the refugees,” Shiro says. “Say, is…is everything okay with you and Lance? It’s been a few days of you two both acting strangely, and during today’s mission, well. We have to work as a team. We can’t be on different wavelengths.” 

“I caught him doing something embarrassing,” Keith says. It isn’t the full truth, but it isn’t a full lie, either. A safe in-between. Shiro can choose whether or not he wants to endeavor to fill in the blanks. “And now he won’t even go in the same room as me.”

“Ahh,” Shiro says. He appears to relax at the answer, as though he’s been fearing the worst. Keith wants to interject and insist that it is, in fact, the worst, but that'll give away far too much information. “I see. Maybe you could let him catch you acting silly in return? It might make him feel less insecure.”

Okay, so Shiro definitely doesn’t know what Keith is talking about. Silly is singing off-key in the shower, or burping in the middle of an important meeting, not. _That._

“Maybe,” Keith mutters. He doesn’t think much he does is exactly embarrassing, but maybe Lance feels otherwise. 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Shiro says and claps him on the shoulder on the way out.

“Yeah,” he says to the empty room. 

 

** Hour 60: **

 

He corners Lance before lunch. 

“Lance,” Keith says. “Let’s train.”

“Uhh,” Lance says. He makes a face. “No?”

Keith grabs his arm and pulls him along. They’re touching, oh God, skin on fabric, but still too much, too close. “Too bad.”

Lance goes limp in his hold, letting out a faint, pained noise that crawls out of the back of his throat. It’s quiet as they make their way to the training room. 

“So,” Keith says and takes a breath. He drops Lance’s arm and takes a step back. Distance. It’s safer. “I talked to Shiro.”

“You told Shiro!” Lance looks so pale Keith is almost worried he might faint. 

“No!” Keith says, tone defensive. Who does Lance think he is! “Of course not! He wanted to know what was up with us earlier on the mission. I just told him that you did something embarrassing and I saw it happen. I never mentioned _what_ you did.”

“Okay, okay,” Lance says. His cheeks are beginning to flush back to a normal color. “I don’t have to eject myself out of the airlock just yet.”

“I wish I could eject the memory of it out of the airlock,” Keith says and crosses his arms. 

“No one _said_ you had to remember it!” Lance says.

“That…That doesn’t even make sense!” Keith argues.

“Whatever,” Lance says. He draws in on himself. “What’d you bring me here for, anyway?”

“I think I might have a solution,” Keith says. “Like I said, I talked to Shiro. And he had this suggestion.”

Lance relaxes slightly. “I’m listening.” 

“Since I saw you do something embarrassing, he said I should do something embarrassing for you to see, to even it out,” Keith says. He takes another deep breath. His heart is racing. This is the longest conversation they’ve had in over two days. “So, I’m giving you permission to walk in on me.” 

Lance stares at him. “Walk in on you what?”

Keith glares at him and hisses out, “On—On me masturbating!”

Lance blinks once before he shouts and leaps backwards. His eyes flicker to every surface in the room sans Keith. “W—What the cheese! I don’t want to see that!”

“Like I wanted to see you!” Keith shoots back. 

Lance covers his face with his hands and whimpers. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.” 

“It’s a little late for denial,” Keith snaps. 

Lance peeks at him through two fingers and sends a nasty glare. “Well, _sorry_ we can’t all be perpetually stuck on the anger stage of grief!”

“So is it a deal or not?”

“I mean, I’m all for seeing you embarrass yourself,” Lance says. “But why does it have to be that! Why can’t I just walk in on you trying to dance or something?” 

“It’s the only equivalent situation,” Keith says. “Me dancing is nowhere embarrassing enough for you to get over this—we both know that.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Lance mutters. “I haven’t seen you dance yet.”

Keith ignores the comment. “Well?” 

“…” Lance huffs and looks down, scuffing his shoe against the floor. “…Fine, I guess…”

 

** Hour 65: **

 

Why did Lance agree to this.

 

** Hour 66: **

 

Why did Keith agree to this. 

 

** Hour 71: **

 

It’s an hour away from the last hour of Lance’s life. He and Keith agreed to meet in Keith’s room at eleven, and he doesn’t expect to make it out alive. His body is and has been on fight-or-flight adrenaline mode for the past ten hours, constantly fidgeting and breathing heavy. He thinks he might pass out. 

He knew this would eventually all crash and burn and catch him in the carnage; he just didn’t think it’d go down like this. 

Keith. In bed. Naked. Hand on himself. Jesus Christ. 

Under any other circumstances, it would be a blessing. Now it just feels like torture. God, how is he supposed to walk in on that and just walk back out? He’s seen Keith without a shirt before—and God it’s nice—but never without pants, and especially not without underwear. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to avoid staring, or even touching. He wants Keith so badly. 

Lance swallows the returned lump in his throat and presses his nails into his palms. Now is _not_ the time to get aroused, but his body seems insistent on disobeying him. 

He checks the clock and sucks in a breath; time to march to his death.

 

** Hour 72: **

 

Why why why did Keith think this was ever a good idea. He feels so excruciatingly nervous and out of place. He’s sitting on his bed, legs dangling over the edge and swaying from jitters. He has only his shirt off, it folded neatly next to him, having been done so three times just so Keith would have something to do with his hands while he waits. He keeps his gloves on, unsure of whether or not he should remove them. He normally does when…but this is different. 

Shakily, he unbuttons his pants and tugs them down to his knees. Should he have them all the way off? Lance did. But if he keeps them on it’ll be more difficult for Lance to see him. But that’s the opposite of the point, he supposes. He huffs, frustrated, and pulls them the rest of the way off, letting them pool below his feet. 

Well.

Here he is. Sitting in his underwear on his bed, heart rate dangerously fast and hands grossly sweaty. After a brief second of consideration, he removes his gloves as well. The leather is beginning to chafe with how much he’s been sweating lately. It’s just been a constant theme whenever his mind wanders to Lance. 

Not again. Okay, Kogane, focus. 

Is he supposed to wait to take himself out until Lance arrives? Christ, he wishes this situation wasn’t so complicated to traverse. He thinks he might freeze up when Lance walks in, though, so it’s only logical for him to ready himself further. Taking a long, trembling breath, Keith lifts his thighs slightly and yanks down his trunks, quick like a band-aid. 

He’s half hard already. He’d be fully hard if he wasn’t so nervous; all the blood not in his erection is pooling in his cheeks, flushed and red. Is he really about to do this? Swallowing, he moves his hand toward his groin and encircles himself. His body jolts from the sensation, having been untouched like this since the night he walked in on Lance, too afraid to reap the potential consequences. On that train of thought, Keith strokes himself once, twice, eyes shutting in shame and pleasure. Lance. Lance mirroring him, touching himself while thinking of Keith. His breath hitches and his hand squeezes when there’s a knock against the door. 

“Okay, it is I!” Lance’s voice rackets against the door, thundering as though its mere presence alone is capable of splintering the final barrier between him and Keith. “Lance McClain walking into the room!” 

Keith settles into a flat expression. “….Lance.” 

The door splits open. Lance takes a step in and releases an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my god, Keith! What are you doing!”

“You didn’t even look!” Keith protests. Lance is stubbornly staring at the door. Keith’s heart pounds in his ears, so loud he’s positive Lance can hear it across the room. Lance is in his room. While Keith’s hand is on his own dick. No wonder Lance had screamed at him when the roles were reversed. He feels like his soul is about to leave his body. 

“Don’t sound so offended!”

Keith takes a breath and reluctantly keeps his hand on himself. He’s trembling. “Look, it has to be equal. Just. Don’t make me do this again, Lance.”

Lance stiffens at the sound of his name. Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he turns to face Keith. It’s silent in the room, only broken by the sound of Lance’s breath getting caught in his throat. Keith feels his face heat up all over again as Lance’s eyes rake over him. 

“Lance,” Keith says again. This is a dream. He’s dying. He’s already dead. He needs Lance to look at him. 

Lance’s eyes jump to his and they stare at each other for the longest second in history. Lance brings his hand up and covers his mouth. “I…”

Lance spins around and bolts. 

 

** Hour 73:  **

 

Lance is never leaving his room again. He’s also going to Hell. 

Grip tight, he strokes himself quickly, trying to outpace his shame. 

“Quiznak,” he gasps. Keith, Keith, all naked and shaking and saying _Lance._ Can hardly believe this is reality. He squeezes himself, bending over and wheezing for air. He’s never been this turned on in his life and he feels like he’s dying. Keith’s hand, so bare, holding himself, stroking himself. What he wouldn’t give to feel those hands on him. 

He cums to the memory of Keith whispering his name. 

 

** Hour 82: **

 

So that was disaster part two. Keith knew he should have never suggested it, should have shut it down long before it got to where it is now—where they are now. 

Last night he touched himself after Lance left, tried to recall the look on Lance’s face. The flush of his cheeks and the gasp he had made. It was too much. Keith came in seconds. 

He doesn’t even bother with breakfast. He knows Lance probably won’t, either—they’ll probably look suspicious, both absent, God, what does the team think of them—but it’s not worth the risk. 

He wonders if this is the beginning of the end. 

 

** Hour 87: **

 

He’s avoiding Keith again. And Lance knows they’re back where they started, dancing around each other in an embarrassed, distant circle. Maybe seeing Keith evened the playing field, but Lance still feels like he’s losing horribly. Keith had said his name out of necessity, not want. This… _thing_ he has for Keith. It’s one-sided. He knows that. And hates that. But he’s a realist. 

And a part of him feels sick, like he’s taking advantage of Keith’s willingness to patch things up, to try and make their friendship work, to not be pushed away again. To not be alone. 

Lance never wants him to be alone again.

 

** Hour 90: **

 

Keith stands at Shiro’s door for a good two minutes before he’s able to knock.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me,” he mutters. There are footsteps, and then he’s facing a curious Shiro.

“Hey,” Shiro says.

“I messed up,” Keith says. 

Shiro frowns and ushers him inside. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I just…” Keith sits down and covers his face with his hands. “I tried to make things even but it just made it all worse. I think he hates me now, Shiro.”

“I don’t think he hates you, Keith,” Shiro says gently. “Lance is a forgiving person. He’s probably still embarrassed. Which, honestly, surprises me a bit. He brushes off a lot, and for him to still be hung up for this long…Would it be possible for you to—”

“I can’t,” Keith interrupts, lifting his face. “I can’t tell you. I—I can’t. I can’t do that to him.”

“Okay,” Shiro says. “But this thing between you two. There has to be some way to resolve it. I’m worried about you, Keith. It looks like you haven’t been sleeping or eating much.”

It’s consuming him. 

“I know,” he says instead. 

“Do you want me to try to talk to Lance?”

“No!” Keith shouts, then shrinks at the look of surprise on Shiro’s face. “I…That’d just make things worse, trust me. I created this mess. I’m the one who needs to fix it.”

“If you’re sure,” Shiro says. 

“By the end of the week,” Keith says. “I’ll fix it by then. I promise.”

He hopes.

 

** Hour 97: **

 

Lance misses being able to sleep. He used to fall asleep within minutes. Now, he stares at the ceiling for what feels like—and probably is—hours. Sighing, he shifts on his side and stares at his wall for a change of pace. Lance bites his lip and rests his hand against the cool castle wall. He wonders if Keith ever does the same, if they share this wall. 

Eventually, he falls asleep, his hand still firm against the wall.

 

** Hour 100: **

 

Keith doesn’t fall asleep until some time after three in the morning, but when he does, it’s with his hand against the wall, searching.

 

** Hour 105: **

 

Breakfast is quiet. It’s the first time both Lance and Keith are there at the same time. And Lance knows the others can feel the friction, can sense there’s trouble, but not why. It’s unusual for Lance to not be talking, and funnily enough, his silence speaks volumes. Lance stirs his food goo back and forth, avoiding the eyes of everyone, especially Hunk and Shiro who seem particularly intent on catching his gaze. 

Who knows how much Shiro knows, now. 

Allura clears her throat. “Paladins, I must say I am quite disappointed in you. Being connected is a vital component of successfully working as a team, and my observance of the past few days has proven that such a connection is badly lacking as of late.”

Lance grips his spoon tightly. Allura is calling him and Keith out, in the most polite way she can. But he knows everyone else is aware of the two people causing the problem. It’s painfully obvious, with him and Keith avoiding the other like the slipperies. 

“This cannot go on,” Allura continues, barreling through the tension. “In order to repair these bonds, I have set aside some time later for the five of you to perform another mind meld.”

Lance drops his spoon in his goo. 

“No.”

Everyone’s gaze shifts to Keith, stunned.

Keith won’t look up from his food. “I’m sorry, Allura, but I’m not doing another mind meld.”

Allura’s expression sours. “And why not, may I ask?”

“It’s not going to help,” Keith says. 

“I do not believe you in particular are in a position to determine what will or will not help,” Allura says coolly. Hunk almost chokes on his food. 

“I’m not doing it, end of story,” Keith says shortly. He stands up and walks off, food untouched. 

Allura sighs and sends Shiro a weary look. “Would you please try to knock some sense into him?”

“I tried,” Shiro admits. “He’s…under a lot of stress right now.”

“That doesn’t mean he can just talk to Allura like that,” Lance says, and it takes him a minute to realize it’s him who’s spoken. Everyone stares at him. “What? He was being totally rude.”

At the same time, he’s throwing Keith under the bus a little. Lance himself wants no part in performing a mind meld, and Keith was just a tad quicker to protest. 

Allura studies him. “Lance, maybe _you_ should go talk to him.”

Lance bristles. “Already tried that, Princess.” 

“Perhaps a second try is in order,” she says in a tone that means the request is not optional. 

“Okay,” he mumbles. “Uh. Guess you can have my breakfast, Hunk. I think I might be a while.”

 

** Hour 106: **

 

There’s a knock on his door.

Keith exhales. He knew he should have gone to the training room. “Shiro, I don’t want to talk.” 

“It’s not Shiro,” the voice says. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Ahh, Christ. Keith shuts his eyes. “Lance, I don’t want to talk.”

The door slides open regardless. Lance stands there, hands shoved in his pockets and gaze on the wall. “Sort of got ordered to by Allura, and I’d rather not face her wrath.”

“Oh,” Keith says. “Yeah. Understandable.” 

“So…you were kind of an ass at breakfast.”

Keith shoots up from his bed. “Yeah? Like you want to do a mind meld?”

“Of course not!” Lance shouts. He freezes for a moment and takes a step in, waiting for the door to close before he continues, voice now a heated whisper, “Like I want everyone knowing you walked in on me! And then that I willingly walked in on you!” 

Keith crosses his arms, tries to calm his heart rate. “Then what’s with the insult?”

“You didn’t have to talk to Allura like that,” Lance says. “Even if neither of us want to do the mind meld. Like, dude. She’s just trying to keep the team together.”

Keith knows that. He just wishes she would try to do so without the use of a mind meld. 

“Look,” Lance says softly. “We…we need to get past this. It’s messing with Voltron.”

“I know,” Keith says. He sits down on his bed and sighs. “I just. Don’t know how.”

“Me neither,” Lance admits. “It’s like I don’t know how to be around you or talk to you anymore.”

“We’re talking now,” Keith says, for lack of a better response. He suddenly feels exhausted, all the anger and nerves flushed out of him. 

“Guess so,” Lance murmurs. “Uh, can I sit down?”

Keith stares blankly at him. What?

Lance rubs his neck. “Well, like. If we’re going to talk for a while, I don’t want to just stand here. It feels weird.”

Weirder than sitting on the bed where not even twenty-four hours ago Keith was sitting with his dick out, voicing Lance’s name? he wants to ask. He doesn’t, however. Just offers a short nod. Lance sits as far away as possible, and Keith feels a mixture of relief and disappointment. Stupid heart. 

“So,” Lance says.

“So,” Keith echoes. 

They lapse into silence again. Keith stifles a yawn. 

Lance sighs and slouches. “I just really want to get this fixed before we have to tell someone. I don’t think I can handle that level of embarrassment again. My body might just give in to death then and there.” 

“You mean it’s not already at that point?” Keith says. His is. Especially with the added knowledge that the others know something is up, and also now know that he and Lance are discussing said something, alone, in Keith’s room. Another yawn. This one slips out before he can catch it. 

“Almost,” Lance says. “It’s holding out hope right now. Last hurrah, you know?”

“Mmm.” Keith thinks his eyes might be closed. He can’t tell anymore. 

“Yeah so—hey, Keith!”

Keith’s hand fumbles around, searching for its target. After a second, he finds Lance’s mouth and covers it. “Shh.” 

He falls asleep.

 

** Hour 109: **

 

Lance wakes up, disoriented and still tired. He rubs his eyes and takes in the room. It’s not familiar. His heart stutters as he looks around.

He’s in Keith’s room, he realizes. On his bed. With Keith. Who’s fortunately still asleep. 

Lance’s eyes fall onto Keith, who’s curled up on his side, facing the wall. Lance is draped across him, one arm protectively holding him, their fingers threaded. Lance almost whimpers, tightening his grip. Still asleep, Keith squeezes back weakly and leans back into Lance, releasing a sigh. 

Lance thinks he might piss his pants. His heart is pounding so hard he can’t comprehend how Keith is sleeping through the barrage of beats against his back. He just lies there for a minute, holding Keith, knowing he won’t get a chance like this again. He takes a deep breath and hides his face in Keith’s hair. It’s wrong. So wrong. 

But it smells so nice. It smells like Keith, something that Lance can’t describe but is so entirely Keith in its being that the scent is unreproducible. Lance wants to lie here forever, to always have Keith like this. To have Keith want him like he wants Keith. But he knows he needs to leave. He tries to untangle himself from Keith, who makes a faint noise at the disturbance, fingers tensing. 

“Ahh, phooey,” Lance whispers, tugging back. 

Keith stills for a second, his grip loosening before it tightens three times as hard. 

Lance winces and whispers, “Ouch.”

Then Keith decides to slaughter Lance—he's always known this day would come, has written a stipulation in his will for this very inflicter of death—and pushes his full body against Lance’s front. 

Lance can’t breathe. He freezes, his heart rebooting. 

And Keith _rolls_ back against Lance, trying to get closer in every regard. Lance covers his mouth to suppress a moan and violently tries to tug his hand away. Keith, likely the most obstinate person Lance has ever met, holds on and continues grinding slowly backwards. Lance feels his pants tighten and sweat begin to collect on his temples. This is the lovechild of his nightmares and fantasies. 

“Keith,” Lance pleads. “Let me go. I swear, I’m trying to leave. Please don’t punch me. Or eviscerate me.”

Keith’s only response is another grind. Lance feels tears well up at the sensation, at his body’s restraint. Every part of his very being wants to yank Keith closer toward him and roll his hips against Keith’s ass, press his erection between Keith’s thighs, and bury his face in Keith’s neck. 

They’re both breathing heavily, for different reasons. 

“Keith,” Lance tries again, voice a near sob. He’s so hard it hurts. 

“Lance,” Keith mumbles and goes slack. 

Lance lies still for another full five minutes until he’s certain Keith is really still asleep and not just pulling a long con. Carefully, he untangles his fingers and draws back, letting out a shaky breath at his freedom. His pants are still painfully taut, but at least he’s no longer in the danger zone. 

“Christ,” he says under his breath and hurries toward the exit. 

Time to go jerk off until his nerve endings fall off. 

 

** Hour 112:  **

 

Keith wakes up confused. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he supposes it was bound to happen after days of little and interrupted sleep. His body feels warm all over even above the covers. 

The last thing he can recall is talking to Lance, but he can hardly remember what was said between the two. It all feels so far away and unachievable. He must have fallen asleep and prompted Lance to leave, knowing there was no means of continuing the conversation. 

He stretches and debates whether or not it’s worth it to go seek out Lance. To the best of his knowledge, they still haven’t resolved anything, so it’s probably wise. He makes his way to Lance’s room and knocks, having more than learned his lesson last time.

There’s no answer. Shifting on his feet, he knocks again, louder. Maybe Lance isn’t even in his room. The castle ship is large, giving him plenty of options for residence. As much as Keith wants to fix things, he’s not interested in going on a long journey to locate Lance. He’ll find him later tonight, when he’s without a doubt in his room. For now, though, he may as well go train. Something to pass the time.

 

** Hour 119: **

 

Lance can’t look Keith in the face during dinner. Fortunately, Keith seems completely unaware of what events have transpired. Allura sends Lance a disappointed look, aware of the lack of resolve. Lance just eats as quickly as possible—without being gross—and heads back to his room to hide. Keith had knocked on his door earlier that day, but it was right as Lance was exiting the shower, and he just couldn’t deal with that kind of thing, so he stayed quiet and far from the door until Keith’s footsteps faded.

Now, though, he has no excuse when he hears the dreaded knock. 

Lance clears his throat and calls out, “Yeah?” 

“It’s me. Uh. Keith.”

Lance sighs. Of course it is. Who else would it be? “Yeah, come in.”

The door slides open and Keith awkwardly steps in. 

“So, uh,” Keith says. “Guess I fell asleep.”

“Guess you did,” Lance says. Boy, did he ever. 

“And so we never really talked,” Keith continues. “We…should probably do that now.”

Lance doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say. 

Keith, seemingly encouraged by the silence, takes another step forward. “Uh, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance says softly. “You…can sit down.”

Keith sits on the opposite end of the bed, body stiff. Lance wants to reach over and drag Keith on top of him, press their bodies together. 

Christ. He needs another shower. 

“Okay,” Keith says. “So…”

Lance grabs his pillow and smushes his face in it. 

“Lance?”

“Sorry,” Lane says, voice muffled. “Just trying to asphyxiate myself. Carry on.”

Keith sighs. The bed creaks, likely from him leaning back. “Look, Lance. We need to do _something._ ”

Lance lowers his pillow and sneaks a glance at Keith. “Maybe it’ll just go away.”

Keith gives him a flat look.

“Okay, yeah, fair,” Lance says and looks away again. He crosses his legs and rests the pillow on his lap. It’ll be a good cover for when he inevitably gets a boner. “Um, any more great ideas?”

“Like you’ve come up with anything other than ignoring me!” Keith cries. 

“You fell asleep last time!” Lance protests. “I wasn’t going to just wake you!”

“Why not!”

Lance looks down. “Okay, maybe I fell asleep, too.”

Keith huffs out a short laugh. “Christ.”

They sit in silence for a bit. 

“I don’t…” Keith takes a slow breath. “I don’t want to fight with you over this.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. He’s fought enough with himself over it as it is. 

“Well, we’re sitting in the same room and talking again,” Keith says. “I guess that’s an improvement.”

“Avoiding eye contact,” Lance adds. Or maybe that’s just him. 

Keith shifts on the bed. “Okay, then let’s make eye contact.”

Lance stiffens. “What?”

“If your problem is looking me in the eye, let’s just look at each other,” Keith explains like Lance’s body isn’t currently disintegrating into a mess of hormones and fear. 

“Uhm, okay,” Lance says. If Keith thinks it’ll work, and if it’ll get him to leave Lance’s room quicker. 

Lance swallows deeply and looks up, breath breaking off mid inhale. Keith’s suddenly a lot closer than he was before, within reach, even. His eyes stare into Lance’s, searching, defensive. Lance’s body tenses as he looks back at Keith, mapping his face before landing on his eyes. They’re such an interesting color, a blur of purple and blue and grey. It’s like the antithesis of a sunset, the creation of dusk. Lance feels intoxicated on Keith’s gaze alone. 

“Hi,” Lance says after a moment, unable to withstand the heavy eye contact coupled with absolute silence. 

“Hi,” Keith whispers back, voice low and intense. 

Lance can’t look away, can hardly remind himself this is reality and not another dream. 

“Is it working?”

He blinks languidly. “Is what…?”

“The eye contact,” Keith says. He scoots closer. 

“I…” _I want to kiss you_ , he thinks, and then panics. Arousal is one thing—kissing is a whole other. Something a little too close to his heart. He leaps backwards, hitting his spine against the wall. “Oww!” 

Keith startles a little. “Lance, are you okay?”

“Fine!” Lance’s voice cracks. “I’m fine! Wow, that really worked, huh? We’re all good now!” 

“It doesn’t sound like—”

“It’s super late, don’t you think?” Lance says. He stands up and grabs Keith’s shoulders, forcing him to his feet and steering him toward the door. “Don’tcha think it’s time to hit the hay?”

“Uh, I guess?” Keith says unsurely, glancing over his shoulder to eye Lance. 

Lance squeezes Keith’s shoulders and the two of them freeze for a moment, untouched by the world around them. Lance feels so painfully aware of Keith’s body, of the shoulders that sit hunched underneath his fingers. 

“Lance?”

“Yeah,” Lance murmurs. He drops his right hand and uses his left to tilt Keith toward him. They stand, face to face, motionless. Lance repositions his hands back on Keith’s shoulders. “I’m here.” 

Keith just stares at him, mouth open half an inch. 

“Here,” Lance repeats, voice heady. He leans in and presses his lips against Keith’s. Fire. Electricity. A storm. Every element in existence bands together to draw Lance into a dizzy spell, one that makes his legs shake with nerves and his head throb with alarm. His fingers curl, digging into Keith’s shoulders. With a tilt of his head, he pushes closer, the feel of Keith’s lips like a fading memory that Lance can’t handle letting go of. 

Then he stops falling. Hits the ground. Reality sinks in. 

Lance lurches back, gasping. Keith’s eyes are blown wide and immediately track his. His cheeks are flushed—flushed just like when Lance walked in on—and his mouth is shiny with spit, almost glistening.

“Goodnight!” Lance squeaks out and pushes Keith away from him, just far into the hallway enough for the door to shut between them. 

 

** Hour 122:  **

 

What was that? 

It’s been three hours and Keith can’t sleep. His whole body is excruciatingly awake and very, very interested in Lance. He swallows, drawing two fingers to his lips and pressing down, feeling a jolt of electricity leap out at him. He can still feel the smoothness of Lance’s lips and the fragility of his movements. Lance’s hands had been so gentle, a testament to his nature. Keith wants to know everything about how Lance behaves while in a relationship, and then more. Is he a sappy romantic? A suave flirt? (Keith can’t imagine this, though, considering how flustered Lance is whenever any aliens flirt back with him). The perfect mixture of a best friend and lover? 

His chest constricts painfully and he tenses his muscles, curls his toes, tries to escape his body. There’s so much he wants to redo, kiss back, shove Lance instead but back into the room, hold him firmly and never let go. But the fear in Lance’s expression, the regret in his eyes. It makes Keith’s chest squeeze painfully and his bones ache. 

What does this mean?

 

** Hour 129: **

 

So Lance is no stranger to mistakes. He’s failed tests, arrived late for important events, blindly grabbed the OJ carton when Veronica had asked for the milk. And of course, this whole _thing_ with Keith began with a huge, terrible mistake. Last night’s aftermath, however, seems even more daunting, the difference between forgetting your sunglasses versus forgetting to turn off the stove. A fiery heat that consumes everything in its path; Keith, consuming Lance’s heart. 

He’s not getting out of this unscathed, is he.

But God he wants to feel Keith’s lips again. Maybe he’s unnecessarily shoving the experience onto a pedestal due to it being his first kiss—not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, let alone Keith—but it was also 100% the most incredible thing he’s ever felt against his lips, hands down. 

Why does Keith have to be so… _Keith_? And why does Lance have to be so attracted to that?

He skips breakfast again, his stomach and heart protesting loudly, but his brain weakly satisfied at his pursuit of the path of least resistance. 

 

** Hour 134: **

 

Keith can’t handle their little back and forth game of avoidance anymore. He needs answers—solid, honest answers. Normally the thought of physical intimacy and relationships stay far away from his focus. Distractors from the mission and an excuse for people to leave him—not that they need one, really. They seem fine doing so without a reason. 

But it’s affecting the team, Voltron, the war effort. If he’s going to be distracted by Lance’s long legs, his charming laugh, his fond eyes and soft smile, Keith may as well do it while dating him. If that’s even what Lance wants. He supposes he’s about to find out. 

His knock on the door is not well received.

“If it’s Keith, go away!” 

Keith frowns, a pinch of hurt attacking his chest. “Lance—stop being a child. Open up.”

Silence. Keith shifts on his feet. Maybe he needs a stronger insult, a challenge. 

He clears his throat. “If you don’t open up the door—”

The door flashes open.

“Oh,” Keith finishes. He takes a step in. 

Lance stays quiet. 

“So…Was that another test?”

Lance’s brow furrows. “What?”

“You said earlier…that you were just, uhm. Testing my name out,” Keith says. “Was that what last night was, too?”

“Oh,” Lance says. He scratches behind his ear. “Dang. That’s a better excuse than what I came up with.”

Keith’s heart flutters. “What, uh, was your excuse?”

Lance looks over at him. “That I was being space controlled by Pidge’s new body hacker machine.”

Keith snorts a laugh. “And you thought that was going to work?”

A small smile carves out room on Lance’s face. “Don’t underestimate her, Keith. That’s how she gets you.”

“So, if it wasn’t that,” Keith says, taking another step closer. He can feel his courage gathering, bubbling just below the surface and so eager to escape, so eager for Lance. “And it wasn’t a test.”

Lance sucks in a breath. “No.”

“Then…?”

Lance’s eyes dart to Keith’s lips. “I’ve, uh. Been thinking about you a lot. Since that night.”

“Yeah?” Keith tilts his head an inch.

“Yeah,” Lance repeats. He reaches a hand out and thumbs Keith’s jaw, touch gentle and subdued. “Since before that night, if we’re being honest.” 

Keith closes his eyes briefly as he calms himself down. It’s just Lance, he reminds himself. But then again, Lance is everything. 

“Keith,” Lance says, and his voice cracks so harshly on the name that Keith’s eyes snap open. “I want to kiss you again so badly.”

Hot, white fear envelops him. But Lance is sharp, dividing his blurry gaze and standing right there, holding him steady and in place. The calm before the storm. The storm of them, of what they could be, of what they could lose. His own voice sounds afraid when words escape him, “Then what are you waiting for?”

Lance’s grip on Keith’s face tightens and he presses forward, pushing his lips against Keith’s own. Keith sighs into the kiss, shoulders relaxing and tension draining. It feels just like he remembers, just as sweet and right. He places one hand against Lance’s chest and the other on his shoulder, holding him close. Lance wraps a hand around his neck and tugs, leading him forward while Lance steps backwards. 

“Lance,” Keith says. 

“C’mere,” Lance murmurs. Lance falls onto the bed and Keith comes quickly after, stumbling his way onto Lance’s lap. Keith lets go of him to hold himself up with his hands, one on each side of Lance, leaning over. Lance bends his head and starts dropping kisses along Keith’s jaw and neck. “God, Keith. You drive me so crazy.”

Keith’s only response is a shaky inhale, unable to offer more in substance. He bunches his hands up in Lance’s sheets, trembling. Keith can feel Lance’s own hands trembling as they roam over Keith’s body.

“Can’t believe I really get to touch you like this,” Lance whispers. He leans his forehead against Keith’s chin. His breaths are labored, scared. 

“Lie down,” Keith says.

Lance stills and pulls back, chancing a look at Keith. “Huh?”

“Lie down,” Keith repeats, drawing a hand up and pressing it softly against Lance’s chest. “Please?”

Lance nods quickly and lowers himself on his back. Keith follows him easily, pushing himself flush against Lance’s chest. He repositions his legs to rest them fully on the bed, then yanks on one of Lance’s legs for emphasis. Lance swings his legs over onto the bed, tangling them with Keith’s. 

“Better,” Keith says. 

“Much,” Lance exhales. He holds his hand against Keith’s cheek again, strokes. “So um. Is now a bad time to tell you that I might maybe have a crush on you?”

Keith laughs, breathless. He’s not even moving but his body feels entirely out of air. “Do you now.”

“Maybe a little,” Lance says. He presses a slow kiss to the corner of Keith’s mouth. 

“I’d say now’s a pretty good time to tell me,” Keith says. Fingers shaking, head dizzy, cheeks flushing. He’s glad he’s already lying down. “Because of my crush on you and all.” 

Lance closes his eyes and lets out a long, shaky breath, Keith faltering slightly when Lance’s chest dips low enough to move them. Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s back and hugs him. “Thank you Lord. And Buddha. And karma.”

“Dork,” Keith says but kisses him again. 

 

** Hour 137: **

 

Lance is still waiting for someone to pinch him. He and Keith have been lazing in his bed for hours now, dozing off for a few minutes at a time before waking, exchanging slow, intimate kisses, rough, desperate kisses, clinging to each other. Keith’s grip while awake is just as strong as while asleep, but Lance can’t find it in him to care. 

He hugs Keith closer to him, feels the tickle of bangs against his neck. 

“Mmm?” Sounds like Keith had fallen asleep again.

“Just me,” Lance whispers. He’s so blessed. This is the culmination of every good deed he’s ever done and ever will do. He rubs Keith’s back with his free hand. His other one is entangled with Keith’s, resting on the jut of Keith’s hip. 

“Oh, hey there,” Keith says, smiling softly. Eyes still drowsy with sleep and unfocused. Lance has never seen anything so beautiful in his life—except maybe Blue, but she doesn’t count. “So it…”

“Really happened,” Lance finishes. He’s still just as in disbelief. “You’re all mine now.”

Keith’s eyes crinkle as his smile widens and he scoots closer, pressing a kiss to Lance’s mouth. “Hmm. Guess I can live with that.” 

“Good, ‘cause you didn’t really have a choice,” Lance says lightly, then sighs. “Man, it’s going to be dinner soon.” 

“We’ve been lying here for hours,” Keith points out. 

“So?” Lance squeezes Keith. “Can’t a guy want to cuddle his boyfriend?”

Keith stills. Then Lance does. Oh no. Trust life to give him exactly what he wants before enacting new conditional rules and snatching away his joy. 

“Boyfriend?” Keith says quietly. 

“I…April fools?” Lance tries. Is it even April? “I thought…I mean, maybe it’s just physical for you—”

“No,” Keith interrupts, giving a shy smile. “I like that. A lot.”

Lance breathes out deeply. His soul can return to his body. “Oh thank God. I can’t do those friends with benefits things. Now come closer so I can kiss you before we get called to dinner.”

 

** Hour 142: **

 

He’s dating Lance. He has a boyfriend. The concept may as well be a foreign language for all that he understands it. It’s still terrifying—scarier than when he and Lance were still sidestepping each other, because at least then he could justify the overwhelming doubt and stress. Lance has always been some unattainable presence, be it in terms of friendship or more, so close, so open, for everyone save Keith. But now Lance is his. 

They hold hands at dinner, under the table, not trying to hide but not outright saying anything. Thankfully, no one expects an explanation for the change in behavior. Allura does comment that the quazelwholf in the room seems to have disappeared, whatever that means. 

By nine the castle has quieted down and most of the others—save for Pidge, as usual—have retired to their rooms. He and Lance are no exception, though they both make their way to Lance’s room again. 

Lance flops on the bed and offers a grin. “So.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. 

At the lack of response, Lance bites his lip and rubs his neck. “Jeez, it’s a little intimidating when you just stare at me without saying anything.” 

“Oh,” Keith says. He was just waiting for Lance to continue speaking. “Sorry.”

Lance holds out his hands and beckons for Keith. Keith follows instantly, and Lance encircles his waist in a tight hold, drawing him onto his lap. Keith rests his hands on Lance’s shoulders—when did they get so broad? So defined?

“This is the start of a lot of my wet dreams,” Lance admits and a laugh escapes Keith. “I’m serious! You at my room, on my bed, in my lap.” 

Lance squeezes Keith’s hipbones for emphasis. Keith loses his breath. 

“Uhm,” Keith says. “If this is the _start_ of your dreams…then how do they end?”

Lance’s initial response is no more than a sharp inhale. His eyes stare into Keith’s, offering every inch of his focus. “Are you sure?”

“Lance,” Keith says softly. “It’s not like—we’ve already…Agh. You know what I mean. We’ve already… _seen_ each other.”

“You’re right,” Lance says. His voice is husky. “I would have liked a longer look, though.”

“You’re the one who hightailed it out of my room!” 

“I was nervous!” Lance says. “And really, _really_ hard.” 

Keith swallows and wriggles a bit on Lance’s lap. Lance gasps. 

“And now?” Keith asks. 

“Now I’m really, really, _really_ hard,” Lance says breathily. With his hands still on Keith’s hips, Lance pulls Keith closer and down. Keith can feel the hardness against his ass, hot and twitching. He curls his nails into Lance’s shoulders and jerks his body forward. 

“Oooh quiznak,” Lance says. He’s already panting, and Keith knows he’s not far behind himself. “Here—let me, let’s move more on the bed.” 

Lance scoots back until his spine is flat against the wall, his legs spread. Keith resumes his seat on Lance’s lap and puts his hands back on Lance’s shoulders. Not sure what it is, but there’s something about this specific position. Keith likes it a lot. Lance seems to also, judging by the strain in his pants. 

“So in my dreams,” Lance starts, low and raspy. He places one hand on Keith’s cheek and rests the other on the bottom of his spine. “You’re usually not wearing a shirt.”

Lance slips his hand underneath Keith’s shirt and strokes the goose-bumped skin there. 

“That can be arranged,” Keith says. He shrugs off his jacket, tugs off his shirt, and tosses both on the bed. A shiver runs through him at the sudden coldness of the room. 

“Wow,” Lance murmurs. He trails down Keith’s chest with his hands, pressing down at random. Eyes flickering up, Lance bites his lip. “How uh, how far do you want to go…? Because in my dreams you’re usually not wearing pants, either.”

Keith swallows again. He’s never been with anyone intimately or even had a first kiss before Lance, and beyond fantasies he’s not exactly sure what it entails. A part of him feels like he should be more hesitant, slow things down, but he doesn’t feel nervous. Well, he does, but only because it’s Lance and he likes Lance so much that it scares him. But he feels safe with Lance. He’s definitely not ready for actual sex, though; he knows that much. 

“You gotta tell me what you’re thinking,” Lance says. His eyes are glazed over, warm. “As incredible as I am, I’m not a mind reader.” 

Keith grants him a half smile and unbuttons his jeans.

“ _Oh,_ ” Lance says. 

“Not all the way,” Keith says in response to the earlier question. “But I…I really want to see you. And touch you.” 

“Guess I should start removing some clothes, too,” Lance says. “To even things out.” 

Lance removes his jacket, lifts his shirt over his head, and chucks them amongst Keith’s discarded clothing. It’s Keith’s turn to stare. Lance’s chest is so smooth looking and Keith instinctively reaches out a hand to touch. Lance tenses and exhales shakily. 

“Sorry,” Keith says quickly and goes to remove his hand.

“No,” Lance says. “Keep…keep it there.” 

Keith slowly returns his hand. It’s like pressing against a furnace, boiling hot against his skin and overwhelming, and just as smooth as Keith anticipated. His other hand finds its way onto Lance’s chest. Tentatively, Lance moves his hands to Keith’s pants and holds the zipper. Keith gives a fast nod. Lance unzips the pants and curls his fingers in the jean loops. Keith lifts his hips slightly so Lance can tug down the jeans. 

“Shoot,” Keith says, realizing he still has his boots on. The last thing he wants to do is leave Lance’s lap, though. He yanks his shoes off and tosses them across the room; they land with a thunk. 

“Easy there, hotshot,” Lance says. Wide eyes. Heavy breaths. 

Keith is newly invigorated, though, and pulls off Lance’s shoes as well. Off to the corner they go. 

“Someone’s eager,” Lance teases. Keith kicks off his pants and Lance loses his breath. 

“Yeah, you,” Keith retorts. Without a second layer of jeans, he can easily feel Lance’s erection straining against him. He doesn’t understand how it can feel so good, so right. It makes him shiver. 

“Wait,” Lance says and Keith thinks his heart might have stopped. Is this when the regret sets in? The realization of what they’re actually doing, so-called rivals turned friends? A blink and everything’s different; Lance will come to and actually understand the mistake he’s made. Having come so far only to fall down even farther. “Hey, don’t look so scared. I just…want a moment to look at you. Take this all in.”

“I’m not scared,” Keith bites out. He’s terrified. He wants Lance to like him as much as he likes Lance. Loves Lance. Heart and chest constrict. He’s falling, into the uncertainty and rejection and—

“Hey,” Lance says softly and cups Keith’s cheek. “Don’t push yourself. We can stop.”

Keith sucks in a breath and rests his forehead against Lance’s. “Maybe…just for a bit.”

“Take as long as you need,” Lance says. Their breaths mingle. “I’ll always wait for you.”

“Can I just…hold you?” Keith asks. 

“Of course,” Lance says. He steers them into a horizontal position and lifts up the covers. “Wait, did you want to put your shirt and pants back on?”

Keith shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Lance says and wriggles underneath the blanket. The smile he offers his warm. Genuine—not hiding disappointment or annoyance. 

Keith climbs underneath and scoots over, wrapping his arms tightly around Lance’s waist. His back is just as smooth as his chest, Keith notes. There’s a burst of ardent want that erupts from every inch of him, one that prompts him to press closer still and hide his face in Lance’s neck, breathing in his scent. Lance curls his arms around Keith and rubs small circles into his back. Admittedly, Keith is still a little turned on, but it’s mostly overwhelmed by the sense of security he feels while wrapped up in Lance’s arms. 

 

** Hour 145: **

 

Lance is half awake, half asleep. He’s been watching Keith snooze away, soft and relaxed for once, muscles loose and eyebrows slack. Lance brushes some bangs out of Keith’s eyes and rests a hand at the nape of his neck. Realistically, he should have roused hours ago to perform his nightly face mask or change out of jeans, but he didn’t have it in him to wake Keith—not when he looked so peaceful and at ease. 

He thinks he might be in love with Keith. 

No.

He’s in love with Keith. 

The thought gets his heart racing again, as it has every time he's thought it in the past few hours. It all feels so surreal being able to hold Keith now, only days ago convinced that they would be strangers at best. He doesn’t know how this happened, how everything fell into place, how he managed to persuade Keith to be his, for him to be Keith’s. Petting the hairs at Keith’s neck absentmindedly, he shifts the pillow to better allow him to look at Keith’s face. A smile automatically falls on his face.

Wow. He loves this boy.

 

** Hour 146: **

 

Keith jerks awake. He’s not sure what prompted it, and lets out a croaky, “Lance?”

“Mmm?” A lethargic voice answers him. 

“Lance,” he repeats, blinking his vision into focus. It’s dark. He fell asleep. Maybe Lance did too. 

But more important: he’s hard again. The last few wisps of remembrance of his dream begin to fade, leaving only tightened underwear and thoughts of Lance in their wake. 

“What is it?”

Keith thinks for a second. He was the one who interrupted their touching earlier, but maybe Lance is tired and doesn’t want to now? He gnaws on his lip, debating what to do, if he should even say anything at all.

Gentle knuckles knock on his head. He glances up, perplexed.

Lance smiles at him. “Remember what I said about reading minds?”

“Right,” Keith says. Communication, no matter the looming sensation of terror. Clearing his throat, he inches closer to Lance. “So, uh. It’s later.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. You see, time does this funny thing where it passes whether you’re conscious or not.”

Keith rolls his eyes. Smart-ass. He rests a hand on Lance’s hip, which just barely peeks out from above his jeans. “Did you still…want to? Touch each other?”

“Oh,” Lance says. His cheeks flush and his throat bobs. “Yeah. If you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Keith whispers. “Are you?”

Lance nods quickly. “Um, what were you thinking?”

“Can we turn on the lights a bit?” Keith asks. He thinks he understands what Lance meant earlier about wanting to see. 

“‘Course,” Lance says, sits up, and sets the lamp to dim. “Wow, I…forgot you weren’t wearing pants.”

Keith flushes. “You still are.”

“My mistake,” Lance says lightly and unbuttons his jeans. He tugs them off and drops them to the ground. “So.” 

Keith shifts onto his knees. “I uh, liked sitting on you.” 

Keith watches Lance’s chest heave. 

“Yeah, I liked that, too,” Lance rasps and holds out his arms. Keith climbs onto his lap again and. _Oh._ It’s even better with zero layers of jeans. Lance balances him with a hand on each hip, staring up at him with wide, impressed eyes. “Whoa.”

Keith flusters a bit, embarrassed by Lance’s attention and his own obvious hardness. To distract, he repositions himself until he’s more comfortable. Lance groans and leans his head back against the wall, fingers tightening on Keith’s hips. 

After a second of composing himself, Lance opens his eyes and watches Keith. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. 

Lance pulls one hand away from Keith’s hips and down his thigh, toward his crotch. He pauses twice, taking note of Keith’s expression and body language. It’s well intentioned, but Keith is impatient, so he grabs Lance’s hand and yanks it onto himself. 

“Oh, God,” Lance says, stunned. Hand trembling, he squeezes. 

All the air leaves Keith’s lungs. He didn’t think anything could feel that good, any hand. 

Lance looks up at him. “Keith, this is…Wow.”

Keith nods because he doesn’t know adequate enough words to explain the sensation. 

“Oh my G—Keith, you’re still wearing your gloves,” Lance says, huffing out a laugh. 

“Oh.” He almost always wears them, even to bed; he hadn’t given it another thought. A beat of hesitation. He takes them off and sets them aside. Lance immediately grabs one of his hands.

“Smooth,” Lance notes. He bites his lip. “Could I…go under?”

“Yes,” Keith exhales. His bare skin; he wants Lance touching every inch of his bare skin. Lance holds the spandex of Keith’s trunks with one hand and reaches inside with the other. The instant Lance’s fingertips graze him, Keith jumps. 

Lance freezes. “Should I stop?”

“ _No_ ,” Keith says. So much better. So much better than his own hand. “Keep going.”

Lance gives a short nod and pulls Keith’s dick out. He gives it a squeeze and thumbs the top of it, movements curious but gentle. 

“Lance,” Keith hisses, gripping his shoulders for support. Lance is touching him, touching his dick—Lance wants it just as bad as Keith wants it. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” 

Lance guides Keith into a kiss, cradling his cheek. Keith exhales against Lance’s lips and kisses back, heat pooling in his groin and low in his stomach. Lance strokes him a few times as they kiss and Keith squirms, can’t sit still, can’t lean on anything enough. Abruptly, Lance’s hand picks up speed and Keith winces at a particularly sharp tug, accidentally biting Lance’s lower lip in the process. Lance makes a muffled noise and pulls back, drawing a hand to his lip. He pulls his finger back and flinches at the sight of a drop of blood.

“Sorry,” Keith says, winded. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I just. You went too fast—it was too much. Too much stimulation.”

“It’s okay,” Lance said with a chuckle. He wipes the side of his finger against his lips. “I should have asked. I like it fast myself, but everyone’s different.” 

“Sorry,” Keith says again. 

Lance shakes his head and spreads his legs a bit. “Just tell me how you like it.” 

“Uhm, slower,” Keith says. At least for now, while his body is still adjusting to the feel of another hand. “And a little tighter. Yeah—like that.”

Lance nods and resumes stroking, resting his other hand between Keith’s shoulders on his back. Keith exhales shakily and leans forward, relieving some of his weight on Lance’s chest. He thinks he might be trembling.

“I want to touch you, too,” Keith says. Has wanted to. Since that night. Didn’t dare even let the thought cross his mind before then. 

Lance stills for a moment. “Okay, yeah. Uhm.”

Keith tugs on Lance’s boxer-briefs until they’re halfway down his thighs. Staring, he feels a shiver of awe. He can actually stare at Lance, no time limits or required distance. No screams or door slams. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about this,” Keith says and the words just keep spilling out, an anchored secret that was bound, apparently, to the sight of Lance’s dick. His hand inches closer, rubbing the skin on Lance’s upper thigh. Lance’s leg twitches. “I kept seeing you every time I closed my eyes. I kept remembering how you looked that night.” 

“Oh, Keith,” Lance murmurs. He lets out a startled groan when Keith grabs him. “Oooooh. Sweet lord.”

“Fast, right?” Keith asks. 

“Fast and tight,” Lance says. 

Keith wraps one arm around Lance’s shoulder, a hand dangling right next to his collarbone. With his other hand, he strokes up and down on Lance’s cock. It’s a weird sensation—familiar, but also different. It’s similar enough to his own that he gets a rhythm going and soon Lance’s hand starts up again. It’s tough to manage, so caught up in his own pleasure but wanting to please Lance, too. He’s only just closed his eyes in concentration when Lance uses his head to nudge Keith’s chin.

Keith’s eyes blink open. 

“Hey,” Lance says softly. “I want to see you.” 

Keith glances down and their eyes meet. Keith’s heart leaps and twists. Lance’s eyes are so blue, but there’s only a ring of it left around his pupils. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth open. A small smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. 

Keith cums immediately. With a gasp, he collapses forward, resting his chest against Lance’s and squeezing his dick tightly. With every last drop of energy remaining in him—which, admittedly, is not much—Keith works Lance to his finish. Lance cums less than a minute after him, the warm liquid gathering on Keith’s palm and then dripping down.

Lance lifts his clean hand and drags it up and down Keith’s back. He knows his back is sticky with sweat, but so is Lance’s palm. Keith closes his eyes and bends over, resting his head next to Lance’s throat. They’re both panting, basking in the warm aftermath of an orgasm. Keith’s body feels weightless, but his head is heavy and tired. 

“I think I just had a religious experience,” Lance says. 

Keith laughs. “That good, huh?”

“Are you saying it wasn’t amazing?”

Keith ducks his head further into Lance’s neck. He can feel his cheeks blushing, but the rest of his body is flushed from exertion and orgasm, so maybe it’s not noticeable. “It was.”

“We should clean up,” Lance says after a minute. Keith sighs against him. “Heh, I know. It’s my least favorite part, too. But I’m guessing you don’t want to fall asleep sticky.”

“I don’t,” Keith admits and climbs off Lance. Most of his cum got on his underwear and stomach, but gravity is doing him no favors. “Bathroom?”

“Towels in the second drawer,” Lance says. 

Keith returns with two dampened towels and they clean themselves off. 

“Ugh, it’s on the sheets, too,” Lance says, wrinkling his nose. 

Keith shrugs. “Wash them tomorrow.”

“Keith. I don’t know what kind of barn you were raised in, but I don’t sleep on cum-stained sheets.” 

“Obviously,” Keith says. “Let’s just go to my room. The sheets are clean there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lance says, as though the idea had never once crossed his mind that Keith had his own, separate room. “Lead the way.”

They curl up in Keith’s bed, draped across each other and wrapped together like morning may never come. 

 

** Hour 155: **

 

Lance opens his eyes to see a mop of black hair nestled below his chin. He smiles softly. Yesterday was real. If he had known getting caught saying Keith’s name while masturbating would result in gaining a boyfriend, he would have done it long ago. 

“Hey, Keith,” Lance says. 

“Mmm.” Keith shifts and ducks his head out of Lance’s hold. He rests his cheek on the pillow and stares blearily at Lance. “Morning.” 

“I think we missed breakfast,” Lance says.

“Ehh, so long as no Galra attack, it’s our day off,” Keith says. 

“Day in bed? I like your thinking,” Lance says. He stretches his legs a bit and settles back down. 

“I didn’t say that,” Keith says. “Actually, I was going to train later…”

“Ugh,” Lance says. Typical Keith. He supposes the words hold less weight considering he is quite fond of typical Keith, loves him, even. “Count me out. Well. Maybe I’ll join you. May as well if I get to see you all sweaty and worked up. Maybe even shirtless if I’m lucky.”

“Lance!” 

Lance snickers and hugs Keith. He’s so easy to rile up, and Lance loves it. Loves him. The words bubble just beneath his lips. He wants to say them, but he doesn’t want to freak Keith out. It’s still early, but so true. He didn’t think it was possible to like someone so much, but here he is. He draws back, leaving some space—for Jesus—so they can look at each other without having to cross their eyes. 

“Hey,” he says softly.

Keith stares back at him, smiles. “Hey.”

Lance clears his throat and grabs one of Keith’s hands. He’s going to say it—going to take the leap of faith, of reciprocation, of them together. He’d follow Keith anywhere. 

“Keith, I…I’m in love with you,” Lance says.

Keith’s eyes widen. “What?”

Lance wills his hands to stop being so clammy, especially the one in Keith’s grasp. Keith’s own grip has gone slack, while Lance’s has tightened. He doesn’t want to lose him. 

“It’s just what I said,” Lance says. “I’m in love with you.”

“Oh my God,” Keith whispers. Tears prickle at the edges of his eyes. “Lance, I love you, too. I’m in love with you, too.”

“Oh, Keith,” Lance says and yanks him back into an embrace. Keith hides his face in Lance’s neck and wraps his legs around his midsection. Lance can feel the frantic pace of his own heartbeat, can feel it throb against Keith’s chest, against Keith’s similarly speedy one. 

When they finally pull back, Keith immediately cradles Lance’s face. There are still traces of tears in his eyes and a few rolling down his cheek. But he’s smiling, beaming so wide that it’s all Lance can see. Keith kisses him fervently and Lance nearly liquefies in his hold. 

He feels like the luckiest boy in the universe. 

 

** Hour 158: **

 

By noon, the others all know _something_ is going on between them. Keith doesn’t find himself caring.

He’s so in love with Lance. 

 

** Hour 161: **

 

So Lance was right, and the only redeeming factor of training is that it got Keith all sweaty. Lance lounges on the sidelines, watching Keith fight against training bot after training bot. 

“You know,” Keith says after who knows how many rounds—Lance lost track around four; he was far too distracted by the glide of Keith’s moves. “You could take a stab at this.”

Lance watches him closely. Keith’s breathing is a little heavier than normal, it returning to base level during the lull. It looks like he’s still got a good amount of fight left in him, though. Lance shrugs and stands up. “All right. I’ve got your back, Samurai.” 

Lance transforms his bayard and tosses a smirk Keith’s way. 

“Ready?”

“You know it, Sharpshooter,” Keith says, pressing his back against Lance’s. “Begin training sequence six!”

They fight.

 

** Hour 164:  **

 

Shiro corners Keith after dinner when Lance heads off to take a shower, complaining that he didn’t get a chance to before dinner and that he’s still sweaty from training. Keith actually likes the heavy scent that settles against Lance’s back and behind his neck, reminds him of the night before, but doesn’t relay any of his thoughts. Trust Lance to get an even bigger ego out of it. Though maybe it _would_ be enough of a motivator to amp up the frequency of training. At the very least, he’ll tell Lance later when they don’t have an audience. 

“I’m seeing some improvements in your and Lance’s bonding,” Shiro says. 

Keith does his best not to blush. Bonding is one word for it. “Yeah, we smoothed things out.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Shiro says. “Any chance you’ll tell me what it was you caught him doing?” 

Keith shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “Nothing important. He’s not embarrassed any more, anyway.” 

Shiro nods. Keith is so relieved Shiro never pushes. 

“Well, good job,” Shiro says and starts to head off.

“Wait,” Keith says. Shiro looks to him patiently. “Err, thanks for your advice. I took it, and it worked. Really well, actually.” 

Shiro leaves with a pleased smile. So does Keith. 

 

** Hour 165: **

 

Lance and Keith sprawl out on the couches, watching some confusing Altean movie that offers subtitles in eighteen different languages, none of which are English or Spanish. The others slowly trickle in one by one until everyone is sitting, entranced by the unusual media. 

Lance draws out a fake yawn and stretches, casually draping his arm across Keith’s shoulders. Gottem. 

Hunk catches it. “Dude, Lance. Did you just make a move on Keith?”

All eyes turn toward Lance, including Keith’s. 

Lance scoffs. “What a silly question, Hunk.”

Keith tenses and looks like he’s prepared to bolt. Lance tightens his hold, keeping Keith in place. Oh no, he’s never letting Keith run away again. 

“Why would I need to make a move on my own boyfriend?” Lance says. 

There’s a beat. 

“Dude!” Hunk says. Lance grins, so wide it feels like his face is splitting open; he feels so proud being able to call Keith his boyfriend. “Congrats, guys!”

Keith stays quiet, but leans his head against the dip of Lance’s shoulder. 

“Is this why you two were acting so weird?” Pidge asks. 

“I’ve never acted weird in my entire life,” Lance says. Keith snorts. Lance huffs and messes up his hair. 

“Lance!” Keith shoves Lance’s hand away from his head. He inches closer to Lance, though. 

“Oh my God,” Hunk says. “Their romantic fighting is just like their rival fighting except mushier. I love it. That’s so adorable.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” Keith protests. His arm snakes around Lance’s waist. 

“All right, let’s ease up on them,” Shiro says. He smiles at them. 

“Okay, just one more question,” Hunk says. 

Lance sighs. “Shoot.”

“How’d you guys get together?”

Pidge elbows Hunk. “Hunk! Isn’t that a little private?”

“Hey! It’s a valid question!” Hunk insists. “That’s like, the best part of when your friends start dating each other! Hearing the romantic build up and the confession!” 

Lance feels himself blush bright red. He looks down at Keith, who’s now hiding his face in Lance’s neck. The tips of his ears are pale pink, though. 

“It’s a boring story,” Lance says, because oh God he does _not_ want to go there. “So, hey, Allura, what was the point of that ballroom scene from earlier?”

Allura perks up and delves into an explanation of Altean culture while Lance makes a small sigh of relief. 

“Thanks,” Keith mutters against his neck. Lance rubs Keith’s shoulder and listens to Allura’s excited retelling of her own ballroom experience. It feels like home. 

 

** Hour 168: **

 

After the movie, everyone splits up and most head to bed. 

“I’m hungry,” Lance decides and tugs on Keith’s wrist. “C’mon, let’s get a midnight snack.”

“It’s eleven,” Keith points out, but lets Lance drag him to the kitchen. 

They raid the cabinets and drawers but there’s little more than food goo and a secret stash of Nunvil, which Lance adamantly and loudly denounces as an option. 

“I don’t know why you thought there’d be anything good to eat,” Keith says. He sits at the table while Lance, desperate at this point, reopens the cabinets for the third time. “And we might be on an alien spaceship, but new food isn’t going to magically appear.” 

Lance sighs and plops down on a chair, surrendering to the food goo. Keith pushes over the bowl he had prepared for Lance while he was mumbling about Oreos and checking drawers. 

“Thanks,” Lance says and reluctantly takes a mouthful. “I can’t wait until we’re back on Earth with real food. I’m going to take you home and show you off to my family—duh—and they’ll cook you all sorts of things, stuff you’ve probably never had!” 

Lance rambles a bit about his family and food while Keith sits, stunned. Keith has…never had such a blatant offer, a point-blank invitation to become a member of a family. Shiro’s like his brother, but he’s never met Shiro’s actual family, and he’s certainly never wanted to be introduced as Shiro’s boyfriend. His stomach flops pleasantly at the thought of being introduced to Lance’s parents, his siblings, his family. 

He loves Lance.

“I love you,” Keith says. He’s overwhelmed by the generosity of Lance’s offer, by the decided way Lance speaks of their future visits, by the way Lance has let Keith into his life, even carved out a special space just for him. 

Lance freezes in his tale of how he broke his leg for the second time in the same year. He looks over and smiles warmly. “I love you, too, Keith.”

“Hey, uh, won’t your family ask how we got together like Hunk did?” Keith asks. If he’s 100% against telling his teammates the truth—which he is—then he’s 200% against telling Lance’s _family_ the truth.

Lance seems to share the sentiment, because he purses his lips and taps his fingers against the table, thinking for a minute. Finally, he says, “I’m telling my parents we got together at a coffee shop.”

Keith laughs. “Works for me.”

And it really does. 


End file.
